


when dreams do show thee me

by mousecookie



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: (sort of), Eiselcross Arc, Found Family, Gen, Mollymauk Tealeaf Lives, Mollymauk flirts with everyone including himself, Resurrection, Schmoop, spoilers through c2e120, written for the prompt 'the biggest warmest hugs'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28675866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mousecookie/pseuds/mousecookie
Summary: The Mighty Nein stood uneasily around Lucien’s unmoving body.  They didn’t touch the fallen blue gem.“Did it… you know… work?” Jester said breathlessly, clutching a stitch in her side. “What he was trying to do.  Join the minds of the Cognouza?”“I think we’d be a lot more dead if that was the case,” Caduceus replied.(Or: In the depths of Aeor, Lucien touches something he shouldn't, and the Mighty Nein are reunited with a friend thought lost.)
Relationships: The Mighty Nein & Mollymauk Tealeaf
Comments: 23
Kudos: 129





	when dreams do show thee me

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure schmoop, plain and simple. I have no lofty literary aims. Only hugs in a time when more hugs are needed.
> 
> Written for the Physical Affection Prompt meme on tumblr, for the anon request for Molly & The Mighty Nein and "the biggest, warmest hugs". Here you go, anon! So many hugs.

It came down to a fight in the depths of Aeor Prime, as they knew it would. Lucien had seemed alternately intrigued and annoyed by the Mighty Nein, willing to collaborate where necessary, but there was no question that he would not abandon his primary quest: become the Nonagon, and in doing so unleash the dark city from its astral prison.

The Mighty Nein were, on the whole, rather more in favor of the current plane remaining unmolested and uneaten by an endless screaming horror. 

So they fought.

Wild magic was thicker here in the depths. More and more spells went awry, went _strange._ There were more artifacts, too - the chamber they’d discovered had been kept safe from the decades of adventurers who had descended like vultures to pick the ruins clean. Their battle had activated several security traps already, and both sides bore the wounds from gouts of fire and shards of ice.

There was a large blue gem on a plinth in the middle of the room. It was perhaps the size of a melon, smaller than the other threshold crests they had found, but no less luminous. No less desirable. It was the last piece of the puzzle, the last key, and it was what had turned the Mighty Nein and the Tombtakers from allies of convenience to enemies once more.

Lucien got to it first. 

“I’ll be taking that!” he said with a triumphant smirk, and he scooped the gem from its mooring. 

Beau was right on his heels. “Oh no you don’t, motherfucker!” she hissed, aiming a devastating strike at him with her staff - but there was no need. Before her blow could connect, Lucien’s eyes rolled skyward, and he collapsed. 

The gem rolled from his lax hands.

 _“Lucien!”_ cried an anguished Cree from across the room, where she tangled with Veth and Yasha. Her eyes, which had previously been imbued with Lucien’s distinctive glowing red, faded back to their normal hue. So did those of the other Tombtakers. Whatever connection they had to Lucien through their linked minds had been severed.

It was the turn of the tide that the Mighty Nein needed. The Tombtakers were deeply unsettled by Lucien’s fall. Before, their attacks had been a seamless dance of savage force, each anticipating the moves of the others, acting in unison. Now, it was increasingly clear that this deadly efficiency was largely enabled by Lucien. Without him their movements became increasingly desperate, sloppy, and disjointed. It was as though they had forgotten how to work together without the assistance of the mind link. Their panic was palpable.

The Mighty Nein suffered no such impediment. Their unity in battle had always been an imperfect blend of practice, trust, and a deep understanding of each other’s unique types of chaos. The Tombtakers were subdued in short order, bound, gagged, and secured at one end of the chamber.

For the moment, the fight was won.

An exhausted and trepidatious quiet fell over the space. The Mighty Nein stood uneasily around Lucien’s unmoving body. They didn’t touch the fallen blue gem.

“Did it… you know… work?” Jester said breathlessly, clutching a stitch in her side. “What he was trying to do. Join the minds of the Cognouza?”

“I think we’d be a lot more dead if that was the case,” Caduceus replied, a shudder rippling over his shoulders. He leaned heavily on his staff to avoid limping.

“And he said there was a final ritual,” Beau added, thumbing a split lip. “Guessing this ain’t it.”

“Should we just kill him and get it over with?” Veth wondered. She was nursing several injuries, including deep scratches from Cree’s claws, but her crossbow stayed prepped and ready in her hand. Every so often, her finger twitched towards the trigger. “He can’t summon anything if he’s dead.”

“If we think we can spare ten minutes, I can find out the properties of that,” Caleb said, pointing at the gem. “And see what is going on here.”

“Whatever we want to do, we should do it quickly,” Fjord advised. He hissed as Jester began patching a puncture wound through his shoulder. “Before he wakes up, or _they_ get loose,” he jerked his chin at the other Tombtakers. “I think you should identify the gem, Caleb. Fast.”

On the ground, Lucien’s fingers twitched. Absorbed in their discussion, the group didn’t notice - except for the sharp-eyed Caduceus.

“Uh, hey, he’s again,” Caduceus blurted, pointing urgently. 

With a scraping sound of ice and rock, Lucien grunted and pushed himself up to sitting, eyes screwed shut as he pressed a palm to his forehead. “Fucking _ow._ ”

“Shit!” Beau hissed. She promptly raised her staff to bid him a swift goodnight, but a hand closed like a vice on her wrist: Yasha. Yasha was looking at Lucien with her shoulders tensed, her eyes wide. The Nein had rarely seen her look so vulnerable before. 

“...Are you okay?” Yasha asked Lucien. Her tone would have been casual except for the small tremor that betrayed her.

“Did a number on my head,” Lucien replied, except his voice was wrong. His brogue was lighter, the undertone more gruff. The displeased moue of his lips was inelegant and honest. “So not too peachy, no. Fuck, did I chip a horn? Please tell me I didn’t.”

Yasha swallowed, then spoke a name, the syllables small and desperate in her mouth. 

“...Molly?”

“Of course, who else would it-” the tiefling opened his blood red eyes, and blinked at the tableau before him, the Mighty Nein all clustered round, the daunting setting of the cavern, the bound Tombtakers all looking at him with horror. “...be?” He frowned, confused. “Huh.”

Beau’s arm flexed but didn’t pull from Yasha’s grasp. “If you’re Lucien and you’re fucking with us, I will fucking end you,” she spat. 

“Molly,” Yasha said again.

The tiefling looked at her sharply, the kind of automatic response someone only ever has to their name. 

“Yasha,” he replied slowly, as though tasting the word. Then he frowned, and his hand rose to his sternum. No one needed to ask what sensation he was remembering. “Did… did I die?” he asked, looking lost.

“ _Yes,_ you stupid idiot,” Yasha said, and fell to her knees to pull him into a crushing hug. 

There were noises of shock and disbelief from the rest of the Mighty Nein as Mollymauk - for it seemed to be he - returned the embrace fiercely, his hands snaking around Yasha’s broad back. “There, dear, it’s alright,” he comforted, though the look on his face was both distressed and confused. He blinked rapidly, brow furrowed.

“You bastard,” Beau accused, apparently not mollified by the display. “If this is really you, prove it!” She cast around, then narrowed her eyes. “What fucked-up disguise did you use to fake being sick in Zadash?”

Mollymauk startled from wherever his mind had gone. After he registered Beau’s question, a grin bloomed completely unashamed on his face. “Painted scrambled eggs on my dick, if I remember rightly, and to very great effect.” he replied over Yasha’s shoulder. 

It was incredible how his expressions were so different from Lucien’s, despite using the same mouth, the same eyes, the same muscles underneath. Lucien was so _measured_ in his presentation. Careful. Practiced and smooth. Cracks in his facade were an aberration. Mollymauk, however, had no such artifice - the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, the dimples in his cheeks, the sharp canines bared by his grin, they all spoke of an amusement that was unrestrained and unapologetic. Much like Mollymauk himself.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t be happy to hear that described again,” Beau said, visibly conflicted.

“Oh, get over here,” Mollymauk chided. Yasha sat back, though her large hand remained braced on his knee, like a warm anchor. He held his arms out.

This time Beau didn’t have to be told twice, and she fell to her knees to wrap him up in a tight squeeze.

“Oof,” Mollymauk complained. 

“I got a tattoo for you, you asshole,” Beau grumbled into his dark plum curls. 

“I hope it’s terrible,” Mollymauk told her.

“No, it’s really fucking good, actually,” Beau replied, voice thick with tears that slid down her cheeks. She wiped them roughly away with her knuckles as she sat back. “What happened? How are you here? Lucien told us you were... gone.”

“Well, he lied, obviously, since I’m _here_ ,” Mollymauk replied tartly. He rubbed at his forehead again, then cast around until he saw the fallen blue gem. Unease flickered across his face. “But I’m... not sure for how long.”

“What do you mean?!” Jester cried, dropping next to him and taking his hand, then letting go to pull him into a tight hug. “We’re not letting you go anywhere, okay?”

Mollymauk leaned into the embrace, soaking her in, but his gaze was distant. Fragile. “I can… _feel_... the other one. Or the space where he should be.” He swallowed thickly. “I feel. Empty. Like he could rush back in and smother me again.”

Yasha joined Jester in hugging Mollymauk, as though with their combined strength they could squeeze the emptiness out of him. 

Mollymauk let out a shuddering breath that fogged in the cold air like a ghost fleeing his mouth. Then he shook himself, gently patting Jester and Yasha until they eased their grip. He glanced over at the Tombtakers, and his hands balled into fists. “I have bits and snatches of the last few months. His memories. And I’ve never felt more right that I didn’t ever want to be him. He’s not me. He’s _never_ been me.”

“He said something similar about you, funnily enough,” Fjord commented. He was looking at Mollymauk like he was reluctant to believe his eyes.

Mollymauk laughed once, sharp as his teeth. “We can be alike in one way, then. If only that.” His eyes roamed over the rest of the group for the first time, and his eyes widened. “Caleb! You’ve cleaned up, I see.”

The answering smile Caleb gave him was pained. He seemed as conflicted as Fjord did. “A bit, _ja._ ”

Mollymauk scoffed. “Well, what are you doing so far away? Come and give me a proper hello, you’d never know I died by how absolutely frigid you’re being.” He beckoned imperiously.

Caleb’s smile split into a harsh breath, and wordlessly he went to wrap Mollymauk in a fierce hug.

“Look at that, that’s very nice,” Mollymauk praised, voice muffled as his nose was mashed into the many loops of Caleb’s scarf. “And you smell fresh as a rose, too. I’m so proud.”

Caleb sat back and took Mollymauk’s face in his hands. His eyes were hungry as they took in the sight before them, taking in the little things in the tiefling’s expression that were so achingly familiar - the raising of an eyebrow, the slight hooding of his eyes, the lopsided smirk curling the corner of his mouth - things that had been missing, warped, or corrupted when Lucien had been at the helm. “It’s good to see you looking back out of this face,” he said, and soundly kissed Mollymauk’s forehead. Then he hurriedly fled behind the others so that he wouldn’t have to see Mollymauk’s reaction.

Mollymauk blinked, eyes softening, but he didn’t call Caleb back. “I don’t believe I know you two,” he said to Veth and Caduceus, then squinted. “Or do I? It’s hard to sort out everything upstairs.” He pointed at his head. “Big mess.”

“It’s me, you big lump,” Veth said, hands on her hips.

“Nott?” Mollymauk said, aghast. “But… you’re not you!”

“Actually, I’m the most me I’ve ever been,” retorted Veth. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you if you stick around.” Her stern look wavered.

“Fair enough,” Mollymauk allowed. He lifted his arms. “No love for an old friend?”

“Fine! Fine.” Veth walked up to him, almost angry, and did her best to squash the life out of him via hug. “You’d _better_ stick around,” she threatened. “It’s an amazing story and I want you to hear it. I want you to meet my family.”

“A family? That’s very nice,” Mollymauk said approvingly, resting his chin on the top of her head. “How domestic of you. Never would have imagined a goblin housewife.”

Veth pinched his belly, and he laughed, trapping her head with his elbow. They tussled for a moment, finally ending with Veth biting his wrist with blunt teeth.

“You really are still you,” Mollymauk told her, tweaking her nose. 

Veth scowled at him as they parted. “And don’t you forget it!”

“You haven’t met me,” Caduceus said, kneeling down. “I arrived shortly after your death. But I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” Mollymauk said, craning his neck.

“Caduceus helped us hunt down the Iron Shepherds,” Jester explained. “He’s our _other_ cleric.”

“Gods, that’s good,” Mollymauk said. “You idiots need two clerics. All the trouble you’re into.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Caduceus smiled, kind and open. “Well, I know we’ve just met, but I always find a good hug can do wonders. I’m told my fuzz is very comforting.” He lifted his arms in invitation.

Mollymauk laughed. “I’m always up for something new.” He leaned in, and Caduceus gave him a warm embrace. Mollymauk promptly buried his face in Caduceus’s neck. “Hmm, you’re right, the fuzz is absolutely superb. Top notch. Well done.”

Caduceus hummed. He, too, seemed comforted by the embrace. Perhaps it was because Mollymauk was so clearly distinct from the tiefling he’d come to know in previous weeks. Lucien’s fervor for the dark city had long unsettled Caduceus, and evidence of his absence - as shown by Mollymauk’s willingness to share a hug, and whatever else could be gleaned by his intuition - was welcome. He sighed a deep sigh, and smiled faintly while Mollymauk’s head rested heavy on his collarbone.

The situation was far from over, however.

Behind the group, Caleb had begun a ritual casting of _Identify_ on the blue gem. His movements were stiff and uncomfortable due to injuries sustained in the fight, some caused by Lucien’s dark scimitars. His face was set in grim lines. Fjord kept half an eye on the process. He, too, was not smiling.

“...Where’s my coat?” Mollymauk frowned suddenly, once Caduceus stepped back. He clambered unsteadily to his feet, assisted by Beau and Jester. “I know the other bastard doesn’t have it,” he gestured to his own body. “No sense of style at all, even if he did keep the parts in _stellar_ condition, if I may say so.” He ran his hands over his own torso with a rakish grin.

“I’ve got it,” Beau said immediately. “It’s kinda. Not in good shape. But it’s here. We can get it repaired for you. Or remade, you know, whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want? That’s a generous offer,” Mollymauk teased. “Careful, I’ll take you up on it.”

“Well, we’re sort of loaded these days,” Veth commented.

“Oh?”

“The whole mercenary business is pretty good,” Veth continued. “I even make it home for a family dinner now and again.”

Mollymauk’s smile was bittersweet. “Seems you’ve all done quite a lot of growing.” The ‘ _without me’_ went unspoken. His eyes fell on Fjord, and he pivoted into a joke. “Like you. Where’d all that muscle come from? You used to be a twig. Now you’re a stick, at least.”

Fjord cleared his throat and flexed subtly. “Paladin of the Wildmother. Came with some, uh, side benefits.”

“Oooh, like that accent!” Mollymauk raised his eyebrows. “Very sexy. And those tusks all grown in. Who knew piety would do it for you?”

Fjord blushed plum. “It’s… a long story.” 

“He _is_ very sexy,” Jester stage-whispered. She gave Mollymauk an exaggerated wink and an ‘A-okay’ gesture with her hand. Fjord turned, if possible, even more purple.

“Well!” Mollymauk exclaimed. “I’ve gotta have a hug, then, don’t I?”

The words were left adrift in an awkward silence.

Fjord glanced at where Caleb was still working his spell. He shifted on his feet. “I-- I would rather wait until we have the results of this spell, actually, I-- I’m sorry, Molly. I want it to be you in there, I do, I just...” he trailed off. 

Mollymauk’s smile turned wry, and he lowered his arms. “I get it. Well, no reason I can’t wait a bit. It better be a good fucking hug, mind you, if I’m waiting for it.”

“I’ll do my best,” Fjord replied. He seemed torn between a wince and a smile.

“I have plenty of hugs for you while we wait,” Jester told Mollymauk, and wrapped him up tight. “I kept working on your tarot cards, Molly, I hope you don’t mind! I can show them to you.”

“I’d like that very much,” Mollymauk said. 

The next several minutes while Caleb finished his spell were tense. The adrenaline of battle was receding, the frozen air reasserting itself as they tugged their winter clothes more tightly around themselves, their sweat crystalizing into ice. The Mighty Nein kept looking at Mollymauk like they weren’t sure he was real. Like he might be Lucien playing a trick. Like he might vanish in a puff of smoke if they looked away. Mollymauk seemed to be taking the tactic that if he was talking, nothing could be going wrong, and kept a running commentary over Jester’s tarot cards.

At last Caleb clapped his hands over the blue gem, and the arcane sigils that hovered around him winked out.

“It is a Soul Jar,” he said quietly, pitched low and urgent so that the Tombtakers would not hear. “Like the one that captured Halas. Do not touch it with your bare hands.”

“Wait, so Lucien’s in there?” Jester goggled. “But how did it not get Molly too?”

“And where’s the real threshold crest, if not this?” Fjord added.

Caleb scrubbed a hand over his stubbly jaw, repetitive and agitated. “I can answer the second question. It _is_ the threshold crest. One may use any kind of gem or container as the trap component of a Soul Jar, including objects that are already magical. It may have been enchanted this way as a last means of defense against theft.”

“So if it’s dispelled, Lucien’s back in his body?” Beau asked.

Caleb nodded fractionally.

Beau’s gaze went distant, and she chewed her lip. “Lucien said that Vess DeRogna... _shattered_ him. Splintered his soul into pieces, in that ritual she sabotaged. And that Molly was a fragment left behind.”

“Oh gee, thanks,” Mollymauk drawled. “Very flattering.”

Beau ignored him, her eyes boring into Caleb’s. “What if Molly was on his own for long enough to become sort of his own thing? Like, enough that he doesn’t fit exactly right back into the whole of Lucien’s soul, anymore. Maybe enough to matter in the Soul Jar spell.”

“So I’m an uppity jigsaw puzzle piece,” Mollymauk said, still commentating. “I suppose I could live with that.” 

“That could be it,” Caleb responded slowly to Beau. His eyes narrowed. “In the Soul Jar spell, the subject has a chance to resist, just for a split second. Perhaps in this case… if Mollymauk and Lucien were distinct enough... they would be attacked separately, and have a chance to escape the spell - _also_ separately. And perhaps the part of the soul that is Mollymauk was able to resist, but the part that is Lucien... did not.”

“Still here!” Mollymauk said, a little louder than necessary. 

“Ja,” Caleb said, finally addressing him. “I think that you are, Mollymauk.” He looked slightly wondering. “And as long as we keep Lucien trapped in this gem, you will stay here.”

“And we’re sure that only Molly’s in there?” Fjord said, tense.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Caleb said. “It would be to touch the Soul Jar and talk to Lucien. If he is there, then he cannot be here. But he will certainly try to possess whoever touches the stone.” 

Before anyone could stop him, Fjord strode over and seized the blue gem from the ground.

“Fjord!” Jester cried.

Fjord swayed where he stood. The Mighty Nein watched him, nerves on a knife’s edge, hands on their weapons. 

There was a low rumble from Fjord’s throat. “I don’t think so, you bastard,” he gritted out. “I’ve tangled with bigger fish than you.” And then he righted himself, and shook out his shoulders like he’d finished a boxing match. “It’s him,” he said shortly. “He’s not happy.” 

“Fjord,” Beau squawked as everyone slumped in relief. “What the fuck?!”

“We had to be sure,” Fjord returned, unrepentant. “ _I_ had to be sure.”

Caleb hovered in front of him, pulling a spare shirt from his pack, which he used to carefully pluck the gem from Fjord’s hand. “Okay, very good, let’s put that away, I think? In a nice bag where there can be no accidents.” He wrapped the gem up and tied the shirt sleeves securely around the bundle.

“Is it right to just leave him in there? Lucien,” Veth wondered. “He’ll be trapped forever. Aside from being risky, that’s also… well, a fate worse than death in some respects, I’d think.”

“You suggested killing him outright, literally a few minutes ago,” Fjord reminded her, a little disbelieving.

“Someone dying is, well, it’s simple,” Veth defended. “There are things worse than that.”

“I’m not sure there’s a clear moral high ground here either way,” Beau replied. “Not that we’ve ever really had that.”

“Stopping Lucien from unleashing the dark city is the most important thing, the _right_ thing,” Caduceus said with conviction. “This is… well, this is one way of doing that. Maybe not the best way, but I’m not sure we get to be choosy about it.”

“What about them?” Beau said, jerking her chin towards the remaining Tombtakers. Those who were conscious looked hatefully back. “Pretty big loose end. They’ll come calling, trying to get him back. You know they will.”

“While you’re deciding that,” Mollymauk interrupted, “I believe I was waiting for something important.” He spread his arms wide and looked pointedly to Fjord.

Fjord was still hesitant as he walked up. He scratched his arm to buy time. He looked Mollymauk intently in the face. “It doesn’t make sense,” he said. “I don’t understand how you can just... be back. It seems far too good to be true.”

Mollymauk impishly stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry at him.

The grim corner of Fjord's mouth quivered. “Fine,” he said, breaking. “Fine.” And he pulled Mollymauk into a short, intense hug that lifted him off his feet.

“That’s better,” Mollymauk laughed, voice strained by the squeeze. “That’s much better.”

Fjord set him back on his feet and let him go, slapping him once on the shoulder. Awkwardness rapidly returned to his posture. “Don’t make me regret it.”

“Well,” Mollymauk continued, dusting his hands. “If I go back to the big sleep, at least I got a warm hello from all you miscreants out of the bargain first.”

“I told you, we’re not letting you go anywhere,” Jester said firmly as Caleb stowed the wrapped blue gem in her pink haversack.

“But what about the Tombtakers?” Beau said again.

“I can modify some memories tomorrow,” Jester suggested. “Make them think Lucien died again, or that the ritual failed.”

“Or we can destroy the threshold crest somehow,” Fjord suggested. “I know we don’t have the best track record for successfully destroying spherical objects of immense power, but now might be a good time to figure it out. Cut the head off the snake, you know.” 

“You sound like you’re talking about your _other_ snake problem,” Veth said.

“Problem with your snake? Ooh, really? Tough break,” Molly hissed in sympathy. “But there are herbs that can help with that, I should think.”

“It’s not _that--_ ” Fjord choked on air, then took a deep breath and gathered his dignity. “It is not _that_ kind of... snake problem,” he said firmly. “It’s a long story and we’ll tell you later.”

Mollymauk rubbed his hands together, grinning. “So many long stories for me from you all. I can’t wait.”

“For now, we should rest,” Caduceus said, setting up for a prayer of healing. 

“Should we leave the cult buddies out here, or bring them in the tower?” Beau wondered. “I don’t trust them not to try anything.”

Caleb tilted his head and rubbed his chin. “I can make somewhere secure for them. And it will go badly for them if they try some funny business in a place that is under my control.” Then he stopped and broke into a small smile, his eyes finding Mollymauk. “And… I will have to make a room for you, Mister Mollymauk.”

“Make a room for me?”

“You will see,” Caleb said, his smile curling warmer. He rubbed his hands together, looking the most happy and animated he had been in days. “After you have a look, you can tell me what changes you would make for next time. Anything is possible - and that is not an exaggeration!” 

Mollymauk chuckled. “Well, Mister Caleb, color me both confused and very intrigued!”

A short time later, Widogast’s Nascent Nein-Sided Tower was cast, and they were all settling in. Mollymauk was delighted by everything. He exclaimed loud praises, poking his nose into things and having a grand old time. When he spied the stained glass window in the library that was modeled after his coat, however, he grew quiet, and did nothing except fold his arms around himself. Caleb squeezed his shoulder, also saying nothing. Yasha hovered behind him like a constant shadow.

Mollymauk was pleased with his room, too - it was bright and gaudy as his tattoos, held a chamber for practicing acrobatics and sword dancing, and the most luxurious bath any of the Nein had seen - but when it came time for everyone to head to bed, he hesitated.

“Say, I, um,” he said haltingly as they were all departing the dining room after a hearty meal. Everyone paused to listen. “So, this is silly. I’m aware it’s incredibly silly, and downright illogical considering the wonderfully personalized accommodations.” He paused to fiddle with a horn ornament that wasn’t there. Lucien had worn little by way of jewelry. “I’d, um. Really not like to be alone in my room, if it’s all the same to you?”

“That’s not silly!” Jester exclaimed. “Do you want someone to stay with you? Or wait-” she clapped her hands against either side of her face in excitement, “OH my gosh you guys, we can do a SLEEPOVER! _Ahhhh!_ ”

“That sounds good to me,” Yasha said. “I don’t really want to be alone, either.” 

Beau slipped her hand in Yasha’s. “Nobody has to be alone.”

Caleb nodded slowly, mind whirring. “We could use one of the rooms in the Great Hall, which can become whatever we wish. Or I can have cushions and sleeping rolls brought to the fireplace in front of the library.”

“Fireplace,” Beau voted. 

“We can toast marshmallows!” Jester chirped, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Caleb rang a bell on a nearby wall three times. A trio of cats - a sleek white longhair, a Marquesian, and a Blue Tom - all trotted up shortly after, tails perked at attention. Caleb gave murmured instructions, and the cats raced off.

By the time they reached the library, a wide array of sleeping mats, pillows, and blankets were being carried in by dozens of fey cat servants, all improbably balanced on tails and noses.

In very little time at all they were cozily bundled in whatever warmest and softest thing each person preferred. Although it was “nighttime” around the Tower, to match the material plane from which they had come, a soft light glowed behind the stained glass window of Mollymauk’s coat over the mantelpiece, as though the Moonweaver herself had come down to shine behind it.

Mollymauk sprawled in the middle of the group. He seemed determined to touch some part of everyone else - a hand on a wrist, an ankle nudging a knee, cold toes jammed under someone’s thigh. His tail curling around someone’s shin. His head was pillowed on Yasha’s middle, and she stroked his hair. Jester held one of his hands. Beau was a warm weight at his back.

Sleep came like the tide. There was no telling what the next days would bring, but for now, he was nestled safe and secure among the people who loved him most.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Shakespeare's Sonnet #43, because it is about missing someone dearly, and because I am a basic literary bitch who enjoys Shakespeare. I also think Mollymauk would have liked Shakespeare's work, or at least his plays. He wouldn't have to read them, and the mixture of tragedy, drama, and dick jokes would be very his speed.
> 
> Sidenote - the most unlikely part of this fic is that Mollymauk "CHA 11" Tealeaf would succeed on a charisma saving throw where Lucien the "I can charm a pile of dirt" Nonagon would not, but hey! Them's the dice. It's possible.
> 
> I do more yelling about Critical Role and other things on tumblr - I'm [ariadne-mouse](https://ariadne-mouse.tumblr.com/).


End file.
